


Little Miss Matchmaker

by clotpolesonly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, EMT Jackson Whittemore, Jackson is a good dad, Kindergarten Teacher Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Single Parent Jackson Whittemore, Stiles falls in love with Jackson's kid, because she's adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 03:51:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8562781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/pseuds/clotpolesonly
Summary: Little Miss Elizabeth Jacqueline Whittemore might just be the perfect child. Teaching kindergarten is not easy, especially with Scott complaining about his (very) pretty-boy jerk of a coworker at every opportunity, but with a student like Miss Jackie, Stiles can probably make it through.





	

**Author's Note:**

> 8k+ in one day! Isn't quite a record for me, but it's pretty darn close! I've never written a kidfic before (a baby once, but not a kid, lol) so this was really, really fun and I'm so glad I got a prompt like this. Thanks, anon!!!
> 
> (Also, don't think I'm bashing Scott cuz all he does is whine about annoying coworkers. Lord knows, I do the same to my best friends, lol. Even more importantly: also definitely not bashing Lydia. I and Jackson both fully support all of Lydia's choices here and you should too. =D)

_“He’s such a dick!”_

Stiles snorted into the receiver and almost dropped the phone entirely when he forgot it was wedged between his cheek and his shoulder and tried to nod.

“So you keep telling me,” he said. “But Scott, he can’t possibly be that bad.”

 _“You don’t understand,”_ Scott said, insistent and just a touch melodramatic. _“I mean, most EMTs are a little full of themselves, but Jackson is on another level. Just ‘cause he rides around with the flashy lights doesn’t make him better than us lowly ER grunts._ We’re _the ones who actually treat most of the patients he brings in, you know.”_

“That’s right,” Stiles said obligingly. “You’re the hero here, buddy, we all know it. Even if the flashy lights are more fun.”

Honestly, he was only half paying attention. It wasn’t even seven o’clock in the morning yet, Scott fresh off his evening shift, and Stiles’ coffee hadn’t quite kicked in yet to let him keep up. It had better wake him up soon or he would be overrun by little devils and he couldn’t afford to lose control of his classroom on the very first day. Must be authoritative. Must be cool, calm, and collected. Must be _awake._ Maybe he should slap himself a few times.

_“And, you know, he never wants to hang out with the guys? Like, ever? The rest of us get together for drinks every week, but Jackson, like, thinks he’s too good for that or something. He doesn’t want anything to do with the rest of us.”_

Stiles dropped his keys trying to get into his classroom but did not drop the stack of art supplies in his arms, so it wasn’t a complete loss. Scott kept on talking, completely oblivious to his friend’s distraction as Stiles braced himself on the wall and slid down it sideways, trying to wedge in the stacks of construction paper to hold up the glue sticks while he freed one hand to grope around for the keyring.

By the time he actually got the door open, his glasses were askew and he was breathing hard. He was very glad no one was around to witness it. He dumped the art supplies on his desk and rescued his phone from its precarious position.

“Yeah, buddy, I hear ya,” he said as if he had listened to a single word for the last four minutes. “That Jackson guy is such a raging douche and you’re a saint for putting up with him.”

 _“Right?”_ Scott demanded with a huff. _“One of these days, man.”_

“One of these days,” Stiles said back. “But sadly, that day is probably not today. You need sleep and I gotta get ready for the tiny humans. I’ll talk to you later, pal.”

_“Oh yeah, first day of school! Good luck! Be careful, though. I hear they bite.”_

“Thanks, Scott. I really needed to hear that.”

_“Anytime, Stiles. Anytime.”_

Stiles tossed his phone onto the desk and looked out over his classroom with determination. This was his first year handling a class all on his own and he was gonna kick this year’s ass. _Butt,_ shi-CRAP. He really needed to work on the mental censoring if he wanted his brain-to-mouth filter—or lack thereof—to not get him in trouble on his first day. Kindergarten was not the place for asses.

He was still firmly reminding himself of that when his students began trickling in: a dozen little tiny people with sticky hands and red eyes, some clinging to their parents’ legs and begging them not to leave, others making a beeline for the box of colorful toys in the corner. It was even more hectic than Stiles remembered it being when he assisted last year and it took a good deal of wrangling—and some very steep bargaining—to get all the children seated on their mats in a circle on the floor and more or less paying attention to him.

He took a deep breath and blew it out. Then he hitched a big ol’ smile on his face and clapped his hands.

“Good morning, kids,” he said brightly. “My name is Mister Stilinski, but I know that’s really hard to say so you guys can call me Mister Stiles instead, okay?”

He got a round of distracted head nods.

“Okay! Now I’ve got a list of everybody’s names right here.” He held up the class roster so they could all see it. “When I say your name, I want you to raise your hand so I know you’re here. Can you guys do that for me?”

More nods. A few of them raised their hands prematurely, but that was okay. At least he knew they understood what he was going for.

Stiles went down the list, reading out names and waiting until the right child managed to acknowledge him. He smiled a lot, made eye contact with each child and greeted them personally, and only had to stop two of them from crawling away before they were finished.

He reached the very bottom of the list and he called out, “Elizabeth Whittemore?”

“Mister Stiles, ‘scuse me, sir.”

Stiles looked up to find the most precious little girl with her hand raised as high in the air as she could get it. Her blonde hair was in perfect curls and had a little bow perched on top, red to match her dress, and she sat primly with her legs folded underneath her. Cherubic cheeks and tiny, upturned nose, white tights and black patent leather shoes. This kid could make a killing in commercials just from how freaking cute she was. It wouldn’t even matter what she was selling, he would buy twelve.

“Elizabeth?” Stiles asked.

“Yes, sir, but, sir,” she said, letting her hand fall back into her lap. “Could you call me Miss Jackie, please, sir?”

“Miss Jackie,” Stiles repeated, fighting down a laugh; he had never met a child more determined to be polite. It was fucking adorable.

“Yes, sir,” she said with a decisive nod. “My name is Elizabeth Jacqueline Whittemore but I like Miss Jackie better.”

“Okay, Miss Jackie,” Stiles said obligingly, making a note on his roster next to her name. Of course, then he was fielding request after request for other nicknames, only a few of which he acquiesced to. He drew the line at calling one little boy Megatron, no matter how convincing his Transformer sound effects were.

Miss Jackie continued to be unfailingly polite all throughout the day. She was by far the most well-behaved child in his class, always following instructions the first time he gave them, listening attentively when he spoke, and even helping him help the other students when they needed it. She was like a little tiny teacher’s aide complete with honorific because all the other students called her Miss Jackie too, just like they called him Mister Stiles.

By the end of the day, Stiles was convinced that little Miss Jackie was the only reason he had made it through with his sanity intact. And possibly both his eyes, considering that one kid who had been waving his colored pencil around like a javelin until Miss Jackie had told him in no uncertain terms to put it down and stop being silly before he hurt somebody or had to go to time out. The kid had given her the pencil with the most earnestly repentant look Stiles had ever seen on a five year old’s face. It was an amazing thing to witness.

The kids got picked up one by one, some of them eager to leave with their parents, some trying to drag their parents into the classroom with them so they could be in Mister Stiles’ class too, and at least one of them clinging to _Stiles’_ leg and crying that he wanted to stay. So Stiles must have done something right, though hell if he knew what it was.

Miss Jackie, bless her, already had her coat on and her lunch box in her hand by the time someone came to pick her up. She held out her hand to a stout woman with very dark hair and eyes the moment she saw her, ready to leave with dignity and grace.

“Excuse me,” Stiles said, tapping the woman on the shoulder. “Are you Miss Jackie’s mother?” Probably not biologically, considering how different their coloring was, but that was far from the only kind of parent-child relationship. Adoptive mother, possibly, or foster.

“Oh no, sir,” the woman said with a laugh and a shake of her head. “The nanny. Her father works strange hours, poor thing. I just fill in the gaps.”

“Well, I just wanted you to know that you have a very sweet little girl here,” Stiles told her. “Miss Jackie is already my most promising pupil.”

Miss Jackie beamed up at him, standing up as straight as possible and showing off two precious little dimples because she wasn’t already perfect enough.

The nanny patted her on the head with a warm smile and said, “Her father will be very proud to hear that. Come on, Little Miss. I’ve got a snack waiting for you and then later you can help me make a snack for daddy when he gets home.”

She led a happily skipping Miss Jackie out the door—the last ones to leave—and Stiles was finally free to collapse in his desk chair; it felt like the first time he had sat down all day. But no matter how tired he was, looking out over the disaster area that was his classroom, Stiles couldn’t help but smile. He would be more than happy to do the whole thing over again in the morning.

 

* * *

 

“I swear to god, Scott, you would melt into a puddle of goo on the floor if you saw this child,” Stiles said. He dropped his extra cup of coffee onto the receptionist’s desk and leaned back to sip at his own.

Scott snatched the coffee up with a desperation that spoke of being thirteen hours into a sixteen hour shift. He took a gulp before checking the temperature and came away gasping, waving at his tongue, and all-around looking ridiculous.

“So you’ve said,” he tried to say but it was barely intelligible past the lisp of him still holding his tongue outside his mouth. “She’s an angel and the rest of them are devils. Fuck, ow, that was so hot…”

“I wouldn’t say the rest are _devils,_ ” Stiles said thoughtfully. “Tasmanian devils, maybe. Little tornados. Very cute tornados, I’ll give them that, but destructive nonetheless.”

“You’re liking it though, right?” Scott asked before taking another experimental sip, apparently finding it not too hot to be worth whatever pain it might bring if it gave him a caffeine boost. “You’re not, like, regretting it or anything?”

“Of course not!” Stiles said. “It’s the best job in the world! Just because some kids are a mess and the whole thing is unrelentingly exhausting doesn’t mean it’s not exactly what I want to be doing. I just wish some people raised their kids better.”

“More like Miss Jackie, the apple of your eye, you mean?” Scott asked with a raised eyebrow. He hoisted himself up to sit on the desk, even daring to pull his feet up when he knew damn well Erica would have his balls for it if she caught him like that.

“Yes, actually,” Stiles shot back, unrepentant. “She is the most well-behaved little darling I have ever encountered, unlike the hellion who tried to glue another kid’s face to the carpet yesterday. Students like her make the whole ordeal worth it. I sort of wish I could give her dad a high five. Or maybe it’s the nanny I should be high-fiving. Sounds like her dad’s not actually around all that much.”

“Well, at least _someone’s_ raising her right,” Scott said. “What does her dad do that keeps him away so much that he needs a nanny? No mom in the picture, I assume.”

“No mom that I’ve heard of,” Stiles told him. “I don’t know, her dad’s probably some big hotshot businessman if he can afford a full-time nanny. I don’t get it, though, man. If I had a daughter like that, I know I couldn’t stand to leave her with someone else. I would spend every minute of every day with her.”

“I know you would, buddy,” Scott said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “That’s why you need to find you a baby-daddy ASAP.”

Stiles slapped Scott’s hand away and gave him a dirty look, but Scott just laughed. Stiles fully intended to shove him off the desk entirely, but the double doors burst open before he could, wailing ambulance sirens cutting through the sleepy mid-afternoon-on-a-slow-day ER atmosphere.

“Adult female, got tossed out of a moving car.”

A gurney came trundling through with the patient strapped to it, one of those big braces keeping her head immobile. Two EMTs accompanied her, one of whom was Isaac—a good friend of Scott’s who came out clubbing with them sometimes. He was doing very important medical things that Stiles, as the kindergarten teacher that he was, could not identify. The other looked like he stepped off a damn runway even in a standard issue uniform and with a smear of blood on his cheek. That was the one shouting off stats.

“Multiple contusions, possible fracture to the left tibia, BP is low but heart-rate is stable for now. Possible spinal injury stabilized in the field. Get off your ass, McCall, keep up!”

Stiles got Scott’s cup of coffee shoved back into his hands as Scott leapt off the desk and into action.

“Fucking Jackson,” Scott growled. “I hate that guy.”

“Hate me later, McCall,” Jackson shouted on his way past, already wheeling the gurney double-time to wherever it needed to go. “In the meantime, you can do your job so I don’t have to do it for you.”

Jackson’s smile was as charming as his words were obnoxious. _And_ the guy had dimples. Where did he get off having dimples? Stiles downed the last of Scott’s coffee in one go and tossed it in the trash with a disappointed shake of his head; dimples like that should not be wasted on douchey people.

 

* * *

 

The kids were out of control today. It was a Friday right at the beginning of fall when allergies were just starting to kick in and the kids were cranky and loud and not listening to a damn thing Stiles said no matter how much he tried to bribe them into behaving. He was very close to pulling his hair out by the roots and possibly choking himself with it. That honestly might be less painful than another forty-five minutes of these anarchical, Lord of the Flies wanna-bes.

Tommy was throwing things. Again. Wooden blocks, this time, pelting them as hard as he could at anyone who got near, including Stiles. He’d already taken three of them to the shins and they were gonna bruise, he just knew it. The other kids were laughing and hefting their own toys like they might join in the abuse soon if he didn’t get this under control.

“Thomas Fleming, you put those blocks down right now,” Stiles said in his very best authoritative grown-up voice. He got another block to the stomach for his efforts. He was about to power through the assault, throw the kid over his shoulder, and drag him down to the principal’s office for a conversation with his parents when who came to his rescue but Miss Jackie.

She came _storming_ through the mess of blocks and toys, hands on her hips and her curls flying out behind her with how fast she was moving. She got right up in Tommy’s face, scowling fit to curdle milk, and said, “Thomas, _what_ do you think you’re doing?”

Tommy stopped any and all block-throwing, eyes wide and a little bit afraid. Stiles couldn’t blame him.

“Do we throw things in this house?” Miss Jackie demanded, and that sounded like she something she might have picked up from her dad or the nanny, like she was reciting from a script she had heard a dozen times before.

Tommy didn’t answer, too frozen in fear.

“I said, do we throw things?” Miss Jackie repeated.

“No?” Tommy squeaked.

“That’s right,” Miss Jackie said. “We do not throw things. I am very disappointed in you. Give that here right now.”

She held out her hand, palm up, and waited with a pursed-lip look of expectation. Very slowly, Tommy put his next projectile in her hand and then snatched his own back like he was worried he might lose it. Miss Jackie gave him a sharp nod, turned on her heel, and marched right up to Stiles.

“Here you go, Mister Stiles,” she said, holding the block out to him. “He won’t do it again.”

And neither would anyone else, from the looks on their faces. Every child who had been laughing now looked utterly ashamed of themselves, not because they had disobeyed their teacher, but because they had disappointed Miss Jackie. It was very clear in that moment who exactly was in charge of this class, and Stiles couldn’t even bring himself to resent her for it.

“Thank you, Miss Jackie,” Stiles said, not even trying to hide how much he meant it. He took the block and tossed it into its proper box, which seemed to be the signal for the rest of the class to return to their regularly scheduled playtime. The show was over, anyway, and all that was left was for Stiles to nurse his bruised ego that a five year old had more control over his students than he did.

“You’re welcome, Mister Stiles,” the five year old in question said. “Daddy says it’s not okay to throw things, or be mean to people. Tommy was being mean to you, right?”

“Yes, he was,” Stiles said with a sigh, dropping down to sit on the floor in front of her because his legs hurt and he needed a damn break. “But your daddy sounds like a good man.”

Miss Jackie grinned, big and bright.

“He’s the best!” she told him, hopping on the spot in her excitement. “He’s a real-life superhero!”

“Really?” Stiles asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh huh! He saves people!” Miss Jackie said. “He swoops in and snatches up the people in trouble and carries them away to safety!” She made swooshy noises and mimed flying.

“Wow,” Stiles said, “that _does_ sound like a superhero!”

“When I grow up, I’m gonna be just like daddy!” Miss Jackie said. “I’m gonna be a superhero too!”

Stiles didn’t doubt it for a second.

 

* * *

 

 _“He turned us down again!”_ Scott moaned. _“He didn’t even fold when Isaac pulled out the sad puppy dog face. Honestly, I don’t know why we keep asking.”_

“Because that is what polite adults do, Scott, they ask their coworkers out for drinks,” Stiles said dutifully, squinting down at the student evals—if they could really be called that—arrayed on the coffee table before him. “Even if they don’t like them, they still ask because that is the polite thing to do.”

_“Ugh, don’t go all Life Lesson Moment on me, Stiles. I’m not one of your kindergartners.”_

“I don’t know about that,” Stiles laughed, leaning back against the foot of his couch and spinning his pen over his knuckles like a trick coin. “I’m pretty sure you were my _first_ kindergartner, Scotty-boy, considering that’s where we met and you’ve done nothing but soak up my wisdom ever since.”

Stiles was pretty sure that, if they had been in the same room, Scott would have thrown something at him for that. As it was, Scott just groaned, loud enough that Stiles pulled the phone away from his ear with a grimace.

 _“If I have to be a polite adult and ask him,”_ Scott whined, _“then why doesn’t he have to be a polite adult, suck it up, and accept? Why do I have to be the bigger person?”_

“Shouldn’t you be pleased with this outcome?” Stiles asked, tossing the pen into the air now and awaiting the inevitable moment when he would fail to catch it and it would hit him in the face. “It’s not like you actually _want_ to go out drinking with him.”

 _Stiles_ might not mind getting a drink with him, but Scott wasn’t nearly as affected by the guy’s unfairly attractive face as he was. Stiles had always had a pretty consistent habit of falling in with pretty douchebags. He’d been trying to kick that habit in the past year or two, now that he was on track career-wise, but a face like Jackson’s might be able to drag him down off the wagon at least for a night or two. Honestly, the only reason Stiles hadn’t made a move on the asshole EMT was because he was Scott’s sworn enemy and the Bro Code was a thing.

 _“No,”_ Scott admitted grudgingly. _“But it’s the principle of the thing. If I have to be nice and sociable, then he should have to be nice and sociable too.”_

“Just be glad you don’t have to subject yourself to two hours of forced small talk over beers,” Stiles said. “Besides, you know, maybe the guy’s got other stuff to do. Maybe he would totally take you up on the offer otherwise and he’d end up being one of those really clingy pseudo-friends and you’re actually dodging a bullet here.”

Scott snorted.

 _“As if,”_ he said. _“More like he’s off sexing up his three girlfriends and snorting crack in club bathrooms or something.”_

“Wow, you really have a low opinion of this dude if you’re reaching that far, Scotty. I'm pretty sure he's not as bad as all that.”

_“I wouldn't put it past him.”_

Stiles rolled his eyes and put his phone down on the table, letting Scott bitch to his heart’s content and completely tuning him out. He had parent/teacher conferences tomorrow which meant discussing each child's behavior and advancement individually with their guardian. It was going to be a harrowing experience, he was sure, but couldn't say that he wasn't looking forward to finally meeting one parent in particular.

 

* * *

 

Phoebe's harpy of a helicopter mom didn't seem to think that ten minutes was an acceptable length for a meeting about her precious child and so stayed for a whopping twenty-five, demanding a day by day assessment of poor Phoebe's progress since the start of the semester. For fuck’s sake, it wasn't like they actually _did_ anything. It was kindergarten! They ate paste and threw blocks at each other and sometimes said the alphabet or practiced counting!

By the time he finally saw the back of her, Stiles was ready to put his stapler to a very unorthodox and probably heavily frowned upon use. His only saving grace was that there was only one more child on the roster and it happen to be his favorite child.

Miss Jackie came skipping into the classroom with her hair in a lovely French braid, bow tied neatly around the end, holding tightly to the hand of—

“Jackson?” Stiles blurted out. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, just in case he wasn’t seeing clearly, but he was. “I mean, uh...Mister Whittemore, apparently.”

For a moment, Jackson looked confused, but then he blinked at Stiles a few times and nodded with dawning recognition.

“You're...McCall's friend, aren't you?”

“And you’re that EMT that never goes out for drinks with the guys,” Stiles said. “With good reason, obviously. An EMT, wow, that makes a lot of sense.”

“Why does that make sense?” Jackson asked, taking his seat in front of Stiles desk and pulling Miss Jackie into his lap to wrap an arm around her middle. She was looking back and forth between them with the biggest smile on her face like she was delighted that they already knew each other.

“Because Miss Jackie here,” Stiles said, nodding to the little girl with a smile of his own, “said that you were a superhero. That you swooped in and saved people when they were in trouble. And that sounds like a pretty accurate description of emergency responders to me.”

“Is that right?”

Jackson smiled down at his daughter and she reached up over her head to put her little palms on his cheeks. He chuckled and kissed her forehead.

“She said she wants to grow up to be just like you,” Stiles told him in a stage whisper, like it was a big secret, and threw a wink to Miss Jackie. “I imagine that’s where the nickname comes from too. Wanting to be like you?”

Jackson laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“She’s changed her name so many times by now, I can’t keep up,” he admitted. “I just stick to calling her Little Miss. Can’t go wrong with that, can I?”

Miss Jackie squealed and squirmed as he dug fingers into a ticklish spot on her side. He laughed again and deposited her on the floor, leaning down to be on her level.

“Why don’t you go play?” Jackson asked her, nodding toward the toy chest. “Mister Stiles and I are gonna talk for a while and it’s gonna be really boring.”

“You promise?” Miss Jackie asked, very seriously.

“Pinkie promise.”

Jackson held up his little finger and let her twist her own, much smaller one around it. Then Miss Jackie took off, heading straight for the blocks to build an entire metropolis again, probably complete with little block-politicians in the middle of their gubernatorial race.

“That is one very sweet and polite child you’ve got there,” Stiles said.

Jackson sat back in his seat, his smile turning rueful.

“I can’t blame you for sounding surprised by that,” he said, “if McCall is where you’re getting all your intel on me from.”

Stiles made a face.

“That’s fair,” he admitted. “Although I’m sure your intel on him would be just as uncharitable, were the situation reversed. And besides, Scott clearly got a few things wrong. You are raising a wonderful little girl, so you can’t be all bad.”

Jackson’s smile was every bit as charming now as it had been at the hospital, but infinitely more genuine. It took a minute for Stiles to shake himself out of the thrall of Jackson’s perfectly white teeth and dimples—the _dimples,_ how had he not recognize Miss Jackie’s dimples on him?—and remember that this was supposed to be a professional setting and therefore was not the time for flirting. He cleared his throat, jostled his glasses back into place again, and focused on the eval he had worked up.

“Miss Jackie is very precocious,” he said. “She’s miles ahead of everyone else in practically every area of study, such as they are at this level. She also displays great leadership skills and a willingness to take charge.”

“She definitely takes after her mother, that’s for sure,” Jackson said. “She’s got the genius gene.”

Stiles was itching to ask after Miss Jackie’s mom—if she had passed away, was out of the picture, or was just as busy as he was, _not_ if Jackson was available because that would be tacky and insensitive—but he held himself back admirably. He also did not say anything flirty and flattering about how Jackson was probably selling himself short. Scott would be so proud of his restraint.

“You’re right about that,” he said instead. “Just last week, we were—”

A shrill beeping noise interrupted him. At first Stiles wondered if maybe it was the fire alarm, but it wasn’t nearly loud enough for that. Then he saw Jackson reach down, pulling a pager off his belt and looking at the little screen. Jackson cursed under his breath.

“Something wrong?” Stiles asked.

“Major pile-up on the freeway,” Jackson said, already standing up and running both hands through his hair.

“If you need to go, then go,” Stiles said with a wave. “Don’t worry about the meeting. I wasn’t going to do anything but sing Miss Jackie’s praises anyway.”

“Thank you, I just…” Jackson rubbed at his forehead. “Shit, it’s supposed to be my day off. They wouldn’t call me in tonight unless it was an all-hands-on-deck situation, but I told Teresa she could have the night to herself and there isn’t really anyone else I can—”

“Do you need some to watch her for the night?”

Stiles was kicking himself as soon as the words came out of his mouth, without permission like usual. Jackson stared at him, mouth hanging open.

“I mean, uh…” Maybe backtracking would be a good idea right about now. “I’m so sorry if that was too forward of me. You don’t know me well enough for that, I’m sorry. That was—”

“Would you?”

Stiles looked up from his papers in surprise and no small amount of disbelief.

“Wait, seriously?”

Jackson ran a hand through his hair again, leaving it sticking up all over the place, and glanced back down at his pager.

“I don’t have a lot of friends,” he said in a rush. “None close enough for me to leave my daughter with. You work with kids all day, she already knows and trusts you, and...and you’re McCall’s friend. I may not like McCall very much, but I know at least that he’s a good guy, and you seem like a good guy too. I’ll pay you for your time, however long it is.”

“O-okay,” Stiles stammered out. “This was my last meeting of the night. I can take her back to your place, if you’d like, look after her until you get back.”

“You don’t mind?”

“I really don’t. Like I said, she’s a wonderful little girl.”

Jackson surged forward to shake Stiles’ hand. Stiles blamed the abruptness of the action for how his brain fixated on the warmth and smoothness of Jackson’s skin.

“Thank you!” Jackson said. “Seriously, you’re a lifesaver.”

He knelt down by Miss Jackie, putting one of those warm hands on her back and telling her softly that some people were in trouble and needed daddy’s help, that Mister Stiles was going to take her home and get her some dinner, that she knew daddy’s phone number if anything happened or she needed help, that he loved her and would be back soon. He brushed her hair back from her forehead and gave her another kiss.

“Her bedtime is 9pm,” Jackson said to Stiles, already walking backwards toward the door. “There should be leftovers in the fridge and you’re welcome to help yourself to anything else in there if you want it. She’s allergic to peanuts and hates green beans this week. Oh, and her favorite blanket is still in the dryer if she asks for it. I have your number already so I’ll text you our address.”

He was out the door before Stiles could get another word in edgewise and Stiles was left alone with a five year old girl to look after for an indeterminate amount of time. His first instinct was to panic and call Scott for emotional support, but if Jackson was getting called in on his off day then there was no doubt Scott would be run off his feet pretty soon too. He could call his dad, he supposed, but frankly Stiles had more pride than that.

Stiles’ phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out to see an address sent from an unknown number. He keyed in Jackson Whittemore as a contact, glad that he had thought to send out his personal number on an information sheet to all parents at the beginning of the year just in case of emergencies. Then he took a deep breath, gave himself a quick shake, and put his game face on.

“Okay, Miss Jackie,” he said. “Your daddy said I should take you home. You ready to go?”

Miss Jackie nodded and set about putting the blocks away neatly in their box, blues on one side and reds on the other with yellows in the middle. Then she stood up and reached out her hand, looking up at him with those wide, eminently trusting blue eyes and the dimples just like her dad’s, and Stiles took it.

 

* * *

 

The Whittemore house wasn’t big but it was respectable, a nice little one storey place with a picket fence around the small front yard and blue curtains in all the windows. Stiles parked in front of the garage since it was closed and he didn’t have the little remote to make it open and reached into the back to unfasten the car seat—bless Mrs. Glotsky down the hall for having one in her car that she wasn’t using and didn’t mind lending to him.

Miss Jackie skipped up the stone pathway to the front door and waited patiently for Stiles to fish the spare key out from under the mat, then bounded inside without waiting for Stiles to lock up behind them. By the time he caught up with her, Miss Jackie was in the kitchen with her hands on her hips.

“You look like you know what’s supposed to happen next,” Stiles said with a chuckle. “Do you and your daddy do the same thing every night?”

“Every night that he’s home, yes,” she said. “Next is dinner time.”

“Okay. How about you walk me through how the night is supposed to go, and I’ll make sure we do everything we’re supposed to?”

Miss Jackie liked that plan, and Stiles liked it too even though it meant he was sort of taking directions from a five year old. Taking directions from a five year old was better than upsetting the five year old (or her father) by doing something wrong or not the way she liked it. At least this way he had a blueprint to follow.

He warmed up lasagna from a dish in the refrigerator and served it with a glass of milk after making sure that Miss Jackie liked drinking milk and was allowed to. It was very good lasagna and Stiles had half a mind to stick around long enough to demand that Teresa give him the recipe for it. Miss Jackie got sauce all over her face and giggled like a mad thing when Stiles washed it off.

Next was a half hour of TV time in front of the plasma screen in the living room. She curled herself into a ball and cuddled up against Stiles’ side, contentedly watching the Backyardigans and humming along tunelessly to the catchy songs. Stiles stared at the top of her tiny blonde head and tried very hard to pretend that his heart wasn’t doing funny little flips in his chest that kind of made him want to cry.

The feeling got even worse when Miss Jackie announced that it was _story time._ She got herself into her pajamas while Stiles did the dishes and let Stiles help her brush her teeth and comb out her hair. Then she put an illustrated version of Little Red Riding Hood in his hands, crawled into her bed, and patted the spot next to her magnanimously. Stiles obediently took the seat and started reading.

Stiles decided right then and there that the silly saying about children’s laughter being the greatest gift was fucking _true_ because Miss Jackie squealing with laughter when he made growly noises as the Big Bad Wolf and swooped in to tickle her was almost enough to give him a goddamn heart attack out of sheer happiness, and this wasn’t even his kid! He couldn’t imagine having one of these of his own, couldn’t even _fathom_ what kind of joy that would bring to his life, but he wanted it so bad it hurt.

Scott was right: he needed to get himself a baby-daddy, pronto.

Miss Jackie fell asleep before he reached the end of the story, half in Stiles’ lap and leaning back against his chest so she could read along with him until her eyes flickered closed. Carefully, Stiles maneuvered her back onto the bed proper and pulled her favorite blanket—run through another spin cycle to get it warm and fluffy again—up to her chin. He resisted the urge to kiss her forehead like Jackson had done because he wasn’t her father or her nanny, just a one-time babysitter, and that would probably be crossing a line.

Stiles threw himself down on the couch in the living room, tired enough that he could almost convince himself he had run a marathon, not spent less than three hours looking after one child. He also had a dopey grin on his face, he knew that without even having to look in a mirror, so he deemed the whole night worth it.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and it took a lot of internal argument to make him shimmy around enough to pull it out.

 

 **< Jackson [9:03] ** _How’s it going?_

 **> Jackson [9:04]** _All’s quiet on the homefront, papa bear. Fed, entertained, and in bed right on schedule._

 

Stiles was very proud of that, actually. The Whittemores did not fuck around with their schedules and Stiles had followed Miss Jackie’s timetable so well that the 9pm bedtime had been right on the nose.

He didn’t get a text back right away, but he hadn’t expected anything else. A pile-up on the freeway was guaranteed to keep the hospital staff running around like chickens with their heads cut off for a good long while yet. He just clicked on the TV, volume on low, and flipped channels until he found one of the less intense procedural crime dramas to occupy him.

He was half-dozing when his ringtone roused him.

 

 **< Jackson [9:21]** _Thank you! Idk how long I’ll be, things are crazy here._

 **> Jackson [9:22]** _Don’t worry about it. I’ve got nowhere else to be and you’ve got a very comfy couch and a plasma screen. Get back to work, superhero._

 **< Jackson [9:24]** _:)_

 

* * *

 

A bright light startled Stiles out of his nap and he whacked his elbow on the side table. Swallowing a string of curses as his entire arm went numb and tingly, Stiles rolled his way gracelessly to his feet and found Jackson standing in the entryway in pastel blue scrubs. He looked drained, like he was only half conscious himself by now, but he had a half-smile on his face and one raised eyebrow as he looked Stiles up and down.

Stiles went pink; he was pretty sure he looked a damn mess, or at least his hair did, and he had definitely been sleeping when he maybe should’ve been watching over Miss Jackie. Was it bad that he had fallen asleep? A quick glance at his watch told him it was well past 3am so it was probably acceptable. That also meant that Jackson had been at the hospital for about nine hours, and on his supposed day off, no less.

“Hey,” Stiles whispered, trying to shake out his limp arm without being obvious about it. “How’d things go?”

“About as well as can be expected with an eight car pile-up,” Jackson said, his attempt at a smile thin and unconvincing.

Stiles winced; he was sure he would hear all the gory details from Scott tomorrow, whether he wanted to or not. And again from his dad, who was sure to have been on site too.

“Ouch,” he said lamely. “Well...I’m sure you did some good, at least. And that’s all anyone can really ask of you, right?”

“I think superheros are meant to do a little more than ‘some good,’” Jackson said, but he waved that sad sentiment off before Stiles could argue it. “How’s Little Miss?”

“Fast asleep since 9pm on the dot,” Stiles told him. “She was an angel all night.”

Jackson led the way to Miss Jackie’s room and Stiles trailed along behind him, peeking in to see her still tucked in tight and sleeping peacefully. Jackson heaved a visible sigh of relief and Stiles had to wonder if there had been any kids in the wreckage tonight, if Jackson had had that parents’ nightmare running in the back of his head for the last several hours, the irrational fear that maybe his baby wasn’t okay and he didn’t know about it.

Surreptitiously, Stiles checked his phone to make sure he hadn’t missed any text messages while he’d been sleeping.

Jackson edged the door closed with a gentle click and led Stiles back to the kitchen, fishing two beers out of the fridge and offering one to him. Stiles took it gladly, taking a swig and trying not to get distracted watching the way Jackson’s throat worked as he did the same.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Jackson said after a few long moments of comfortable silence. “About you being a lifesaver. This night could have gotten very messy without you.”

Stiles shrugged, picking at the label on his beer bottle.

“It’s really nothing, man,” he said.

“It’s not nothing,” Jackson argued. “I’m kind of a dick, especially at work, and I always have been. I don’t have any illusions about that. My daughter is my whole world and I don’t really care much about anything else, but that attitude means that I don’t exactly have a big support system. It means a lot that you were willing to go out of your way for me and that you pulled through.”

“What about Jackie’s mom?” Stiles asked, because this wasn’t a professional setting anymore, not really, and Jackson was relaxed and unguarded. “Is she…?”

“She’s alive, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jackson took another swig of his beer.

“Jackie wasn’t planned,” he said. “Me and Lydia, we were...young. We weren’t that serious about each other, and Lydia has never been the maternal type at all. She didn’t want to keep the baby, but I did.”

Jackson shrugged, like it was no big deal for a young man to decide to take on single fatherhood. Stiles couldn’t even imagine taking on that kind of burden alone. Not that it was a _burden_ in and of itself, of course, just the sheer workload and responsibility. Being a parent wasn’t an easy thing by any stretch of the imagination, much less doing it on your own.

“Lydia carried the baby to term as a favor to me,” Jackson said plainly. “One that I am grateful for every single day of my life. But she has never really thought of herself as Jackie’s mom. I knew from the start that Lydia wasn’t going to be involved personally in our life, although she does pay for Teresa and and contribute to Jackie’s college fund. She helps out a lot more than either of our parents do,” he added with a mocking tilt of his beer, like a toast.

“Your parents didn’t approve?” Stiles asked.

“Of me getting a girl knocked up at seventeen and ruining their picture perfect, high society image?” Jackson snorted. “They cut me off as soon as they heard about it. Left me enough money for a few months and turned me loose. I’ve got a good job though, and Lydia’s support now that she’s doing well financially, so I don’t really need their help, but back then...it would’ve been nice. And Lydia’s parents don’t acknowledge that Jackie is any relation to them, so they’ve never been eager to help either.”

“That’s...that’s _awful,_ ” Stiles said, flabbergasted, honestly baffled at how anyone could do something like that. “No offense, but, like...wow. How could they not want to know their granddaughter? They are missing out on possibly the most perfect little girl in the history of the world, and I mean that in all seriousness.”

Jackson smiled at him, all perfect teeth and dimples and finger-ruffled hair. Unfairly attractive, even at 4am in scrubs that have probably been puked on a minimum of six times over the course of their miserable existence.

“She kind of idolizes you, you know,” he said. “Thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread.”

Stiles couldn’t help but smile back at that.

“Really?”

“After me, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” Stiles said immediately. “She thinks you’re a superhero.”

“And what about you?”

Stiles frowned at him, taking in the tilt of Jackson’s head, the quirk to his lips, and wondering if he had lost the thread of the conversation somewhere or if that was actually meant to be as flirtatious as it sounded.

“What about me what?” he asked, just to be sure.

Jackson pushed off from where he had been leaning against the kitchen counter, moving into Stiles’ space. Stiles could have stepped back, but he stood his ground, the little thrill down his spine making him tighten his grip on the beer bottle in his hand.

“Do you think I’m a superhero?” Jackson asked, and _yes,_ there was no way to interpret the look on his face as anything but _come hither._ “You did say it was accurate description earlier.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Stiles said. “Must be at least a bit true, then.”

“This whole night was probably a fantasy come true for Jackie,” Jackson said, sidling another step closer. “She told me a few weeks ago that she was going to bring you home with her because I needed cheering up, and you always manage to cheer _her_ up she needs it.”

Little Miss Jackie, the Matchmaker. Why was that not surprising in the least?

Stiles bit his lip to keep from laughing and dropped his beer onto the kitchen table at his back. When he turned around, Jackson was just that much closer, eyeing him carefully like he was waiting for a signal that he was being too bold. Stiles was damn sure he wasn’t giving any such signals.

“Do you, uh...agree with Miss Jackie’s assessment?” he asked, his voice coming out lower and rougher than intended. Judging by the way Jackson licked his lips, he didn’t mind.

“That I should’ve had you here weeks ago?” Jackson nodded slowly. “I’m starting to think maybe I do.”

“You did say she has a bit of genius in her,” Stiles reminded him.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Jackson parroted back at him. “Must be at least a bit true.”

“Maybe more than a bit.”

Stiles slid an arm around Jackson’s waist, pulling them flush together, and Jackson made a pleased noise in his throat.

“You know, when I first saw you at the hospital, I thought you were a cocky asshole too pretty for his own good,” Stiles murmured, lips moving right against the shell of Jackson’s ear and earning him a shiver.

“When I first saw _you,_ ” Jackson murmured right back, “I couldn’t believe McCall managed to make friends with someone so out of his league.”

Stiles rolled his eyes but couldn’t bring himself to pull away, not when Jackson was warm and solid and fit so perfectly in his arms, and not when Miss Jackie was sleeping soundly down the hall where Stiles had tucked her in.

“Don’t mention Scott right now or I might remember how mad he’s gonna be if I sleep with you,” he said, even though he was already chuckling just imagining the horrified look on his best friend’s face. “A betrayal of this magnitude? I don’t know if I can do it, man.”

“Oh please,” Jackson said, sounding every bit as cocky as he’d look at first glance. “You love my daughter way more than you do McCall. It’d totally be worth it.”

“Hey, now.” Stiles leaned back just enough to look Jackson full in the face, though not enough that he had to let go of his waist. “After tonight, I’m pretty sure I love that little girl more than all the rest of you combined. I am madly in love with that child. In fact, this right here is just utterly unfaithful to the true love of my life. I am ashamed of my own fickle affections.”

Jackson laughed, head thrown back and throat so deliciously exposed that Stiles wanted to run his tongue over it, fit his teeth right over his pulse point and see what other wonderful sounds he could coax out of him.

“Just shut up and kiss me before our bickering wakes her up,” Jackson said.

“Ah, yes, you’re right, of course. Can’t have my true love finding out about my sordid affai—”

Jackson’s lips were as warm as his hands, and his laugh tasted even better than it sounded.

 

* * *

 

Little Miss Jackie was not in the least bit surprised to find that Stiles was still there when she woke up in the morning, and she was more than a bit smug when she found him there again. She made sure to comment at least three times on how cheery her daddy looked now that Stiles was there.

Jackson just kissed a blushing Stiles on the cheek and put two whole extra pancakes on Jackie’s plate.


End file.
